White Flowers

It is April and the whisteria's flowers are almost gone
Only a few, lacey, lavender, old maids remain
Watching the azaleas fade away
Sighing as the dogwood's petals are floating down
Settling onto the ground
Now is the time of the white flowers
Mongolia's thick, cool, flesh is wet
Filigreed hydrangea shadows cast on the breeze
Star studded jasmine, spilling sweet perfume
Ringing the garden
Merging with a single note of pure, unending sound
Reverberations of medieval resonance
And, gothic grace

Out of the cold, still-wind of non-existence
Stirred by frozen, invisible rainbows
Without breath
Immovable halos
Rippling auras
Generated by memories of emotions
And, missing heartbeats
The ghosts who have shed their shrouds
And, tread a weary way
To here from yesterday
Are returning to see
If they are still remembered

[April 2015]

Reviews

[Amduscia]

True poetry at its best. Wonderfully written.

[Gee]

Beautifully descriptive,a talented poet indeed

[jacob erin-cilberto]

what a beautiful spring poem...your mixture of imagery and personification makes what could be a typical poem of the season, one that could be ordinary, become extra-ordinary...
i felt the breath of this...

you are a phenomenal wordsmith...

j.

[Prabha Salimath]

This is beautiful friend, I feel I'm amidst of the nature as you explained in here. The first part is really beautiful.

The second part its really meaningful that yes sometimes I feel past lurks over us to make something correct and to make remember something.
Thanks for sharing.

[Vishuddha]

They say there is a place beyond the worlds in which we live where all of time exists at once and I sometimes feel a message might escape from there and visit us for just a moment. For a reason, of course, just as you say.

[Prabha Salimath]

It is glad to read your poems as I feel about those.

[marcus]

It sounds like you have an enchanting garden, beautiful!

[Vishuddha]

If haunted is the same as enchanted....Maybe it is.

[marcus]

Well..they're close.

[Marie]

This is lovely...a haze of white...making, of course, "white noise"...

[Vishuddha]

Ah, white noise - static, interference - from another dimension? From limbo? From that strange place between heaven and hell, between life and death? Only the white flowers know.